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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26185801">Worrisome Heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat'>Neonbat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Cancer, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Lung Cancer, M/M, Medical Conditions, Night Terrors, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sick Character, War Veteran Bucky Barnes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:28:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,815</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26185801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky has always been best friends.  It was just a given. Steve was there for him when Bucky got home from being Over There, and they'd thought the worst was behind them.</p><p>Life has a way of kicking you when you least expect it, but fuck, Bucky isn't going to give up without a fight.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Stucky Reverse Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heya! This is my entry for the stucky reverse bang. As a heads-up, the art isn't included yet as Arch needed more time. So it will be added later :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ah, fuck.” Bucky cussed as a mass of cheese-covered french fries slid from his hand and cascaded down his shirt, leaving a greasy smear in its wake.</p><p>Beside him, Steve chuckled, nibbling at his inferior just-salt fry. ”Real attractive,” he smirked, blue eyes glittering. The punk.</p><p>“Laugh it up, Rogers.” Rolling his eyes, Bucky licked french-fry grease and salt from his metal digits instead of wiping it on his jeans like he would have done, were it not for Steve’s eyes on him.</p><p>It was a good day, which felt too much like admitting those were a rarity. Things were getting better, a hell of a lot better actually. Last year around this time Bucky wouldn’t have even been outside without a bulky sweatshirt hiding his prosthetic, but now it felt almost normal. Almost. </p><p>Kids still stared, taken in by the bulky metal arm. There were better models out there, but veteran insurance was notoriously the pits so Bucky made do. Some day he’d be able to afford getting one of those fancy light-weight models, maybe even trick it out. The Harley-Davidson of metal arms. He’d be the envy of the town.</p><p>“Laundry day tomorrow anyways, so hunt down all your quarters. Neighbor said the busted washing machine is fixed so we don’t have to camp down there — Steve?” Steve had fallen a few paces back, and Bucky turned, brows furrowing.</p><p>Steve stood in the middle of the sidewalk, slender hand pressed to his narrow chest. Just as Bucky took a step towards him, Steve’s face went slack. </p><p>Their snacks fell to the ground. Pain bloomed through his bad shoulder as he hit the ground, but the dead weight of Steve slack in his arms was well worth the pain. Lunging to catch Steve before he hit the ground had been second nature.</p><p>He wouldn’t let Steve fall.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>The fainting spell was long forgotten by the time they shuffled things around their cramped living room to make way for a new couch. Their old one had finally given up the ghost and was parked in an alley awaiting pickup, the middle collapsed in from Bucky flopping down on it one too many times. Bucky was impressed, no one had made a fat joke, even if he was getting a little hippy. After being in military-shape most of his young adult life, he was enjoying being able to eat carbs and take mid-day naps, thank-you-very-much. </p><p>“Moving up in the world, a pull-out. Maybe in five years we’ll get a real couch like real adults.” Steve snickered, bending to push the small entertainment center back into place. </p><p>“Baby steps,” Bucky didn’t think they were doing that bad, all things considered. For an armless vet with PTSD out the ass and a chronically ill artist that caught colds if someone sneezed a state over, they were doing alright. Bucky could hold down a job now and Steve was getting pretty regular commissions.</p><p>It wasn’t all that surprising when Steve started to wheeze, they’d kicked up some dust bunnies hidden under the old couch, and even with the open windows, it was tempting fate. He pulled Steve’s spare inhaler from the back pocket of his well-worn jeans and passed it over. Being best friends since they were five, Bucky could find Steve’s inhaler in the dark if he had to. A reflex burned into his bones. </p><p>Except even after Steve dragged two struggling puffs of medication into his lungs, his thin gasps didn’t abate. </p><p>“Steve?” Bucky hurried over, the familiar panic he’d felt when cradling Steve’s limp body on the sidewalk returned. Everything in him blared wrongwrongwrong as he laid a broad hand over Steve’s knobby back, rubbing gently.</p><p>Steve reached a hand up to grasp Bucky’s shirt, “I just...gotta...catch my...breath.” He insisted, body sagging. Bucky grasped Steve’s arm before he could sink to the floor, ushering him to the couch as dread built in his stomach. This wasn’t normal, even for Steve’s lack-luster lungs.</p><p>It took nearly an hour for Steve’s breathing to even out enough for Bucky not to hover. Steve fussed when Bucky insisted on finishing moving the furniture without him, but his shoulder aching was a small price to pay.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“I don’t care how many tomatoes it has, the movie sucks.” Listening to their friends bicker over Paddington had to be the highlight of the month.</p><p>Natasha rolled her eyes and picked up her beer from the coffee table, ”Who hurt you, Wilson? Even I liked it,” she said as if she expected them to think she ate babies with a side of ranch dressing. </p><p>“It was creepy! Why do people want to watch movies in all CGI anyway? What happened to cinematography?” Sam flailed in drunken outrage. They were all multiple bottles deep at this point in their usual Film-Friday hangouts to unwind from the week. </p><p>“Asking a lot from a children’s movie, ain’t you?” Steve snickered. His tittering ended in a rough hack into his shirt sleeve, nothing out of the ordinary for a guy whose body was his number one enemy.</p><p>Unperturbed, Sam doubled down. “Children’s movies can be great too. I watched this one with my nephew, ah hell, what was — Coco, damn masterpiece. I don’t even argue when he wants to listen to the soundtrack.” </p><p>Kicking her feet under Sam’s thigh until he relented and raised it enough for Natasha to sneak her toes underneath, she drew a prim breath. ”Yeah yeah, we ordering pizza or are we just going to sit here and listen to you critique movies all night?”</p><p>“Not from Bruno’s, some dude found a dead rat in a bread basket last week.” </p><p>“Not Bruno’s, they had that two-for-one deal on stromboli.”</p><p>“You want to risk the plague go right on ahead, I ain’t stopping — “ Bucky’s snark dried up as Steve doubled over, hacking so hard it dislodged his beer bottle from his lap and sent it shattering to the floor in a burst of froth. Despite it, no one moved, wide eyes pinned on Steve as he cough, and coughed, and coughed. </p><p>Risking the glass, Natasha slid over to Steve since she was closest, shooting them a look over Steve’s hunched body. ”Breath through it Steve, don’t panic.” She quietly murmmured. They were all well-practiced at this point keeping Steve calm through an asthma attack, even if this had little in common with Steve’s usual wheezes.</p><p>Finally, Steve heaved an unsteady breath, removing his cupped hand from his lips.</p><p>“Oh fuck,” Bucky was glad his bottle was empty as it joined Steve’s on the ground. </p><p>“What — Oh,” Their eyes trailed from Steve’s red-stained lips to his open palm splattered with fresh, crimson blood.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> Being in doctor’s offices made his skin crawl. Bucky shifted in the uncomfortable chair upholstered with the ugliest blue and green fabric known to mankind. It creaked ominously under his mass and he stilled.</p><p>“Buck, you didn’t have to— “</p><p>“Steve,” Bucky growled, not wanting to rehash this again. He didn’t care if he had to step back into an active war zone again, nothing was going to part him from his best friend’s side. Not even his stupid brain. </p><p>Sighing, Steve let it go, which was a damn miracle and only made Bucky’s worry double down. Steve Rogers would argue with God if he got a bee in his bonnet. </p><p>Before Bucky could be an idiot and ask the usual ‘Are you okay?’ question, the door swung open and the doctor shuffled inside. </p><p>“Mr Rogers and— “ He glanced at Bucky, heavy salt-and-pepper brows bobbing.</p><p>“Uh, Barnes. Friend. Here for moral support?” Bucky tried not to look like a deer caught in the headlights but every part of him screamed to run away until he could sequester himself in the shower and scrub the office air from his skin off.</p><p>Humming, the doctor dismissed him and sat down behind his sterile desk. ”Well, Mr Rogers, let’s get to it, shall we?”</p><p>Steve sat a little straighter, spindly hands gripped to tight fists over his knees. ”Don’t sugar coat it, Doc, how bad?” Steve wouldn’t hear it from anyone else that the mass found in his lungs was probably nothing. He knew better than that, and secretly, so did they. </p><p>The doctor’s expression stuttered, brows pulling a little tighter. Steve had that effect on people. ”I said based on where the mass was and your symptoms what the options may be. I have the results back from your biopsy, and I’m sorry to say it is cancerous, Mr Rogers. An adenocarcinoma of the lung. Now it is the most common form of lung cancer and at this stage it is still treatable with an aggressive plan. I’ve already started to plan one out, if you would— “ The doctor kept on talking, and despite the bomb Steve kept nodding tightly, listening with his whole body.</p><p>Meanwhile, Bucky felt like getting his arm amputated after it had turned gangrenous had been easier to stomach than hearing that the guy he’d been in love with since he was sixteen years old had lung cancer.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> “Eggs...bread…” Bucky mumbled as he peered through the fridge and the cabinets, leaning over to jot down the grocery list. Steve had always been the cook between the two of them, especially after Bucky was down an arm, but for the past few months, needs must, right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was getting better at it and he hadn’t given them food poisoning, so Bucky would count it as a win. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The surgery — that had been hard. Steve had a number of smaller surgeries throughout his life, it wasn’t that uncommon, but knowing they’d gone into Stevie to remove the big C had made him lose his shit. He was damn glad Sam and Nat could keep a secret because he never wanted Steve to know how bad he’d been in the hours they’d waited in the hospital for him to get out of surgery. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The hospital, the halls, the sight, the smell, it had been too much.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“James,” Because Natasha could never call him ‘Bucky’, even if they’d dated for two years before going off into different branches of the military. “Are you sure you can do this? I can always temporarily move in while Steve — “</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can do this,” Even sequestered in a bathroom that smelled like bleach, huddled in a corner, mopping his tear-streaked face, he wasn’t about to admit defeat. ”Steve needs me. Fuck, Nat, he had to put up with my ass when all this— ” he gestured vaguely to his shoulder where he’d gone sans prosthetic today, ”— happened, I can do this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nat tried to be supportive, she did, but she’d never been that great at hiding when she thought someone was full of shit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know you don’t have to do this alone. Neither of you.” Hearing the sentiment from a woman who’d perfected ‘strong, independent woman’ had the appropriate gravity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...I know. But, you know why I... I can’t lose him, Nat. I can’t.” Couldn’t lose him for the same reason Nat had broken up with him and had pity-patted his back one night after Nat had asked him point-blank if he had feelings for her past friendship. She’d always been sharp. Knife-edged. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sighing, Natasha perched against the sink,”Yeah, you should probably tell him that.” They weren’t going to address the possibility of the ‘before it’s too late’ hidden within.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Grilled chicken and salad was easy when half the meal came from a pre-made bag. Healthy food was important for healing, even if they both really fucking hated salad. Personally, Bucky thought Steve needed every stray calorie thrown his way, but what the hell did he know.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A hard buzzing pulled his attention towards the hall and he side-stepped until he could peek a head out of the kitchen. ”Steve?” He called, but the buzzing continued, tickling a sensory memory against his scalp. He knew that buzzing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Setting the memo pad down he hurried down the hallway and rounded the open bathroom door in time to see a mass of dark gold hair fall into the sink. “The hell are you doing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve didn’t look over, jaw squared as another line of hair fell, the clippers gripped tight in his hand. His energy was still on the levels of the elderly since the surgery but despite it Steve pushed doggedly on. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s it look like?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky rolled his eyes, ”Don’t be a dick, I mean why are you doing a hack job on your head?” All that beautiful hair Bucky had dreamed about running his fingers through when he was asleep in an uncomfortable barrack, lonely, sore, and so far from home.</p>
<p>Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Steve scowled, glaring at Bucky through the bathroom mirror. ”You heard the Doc same as I did, dumbass. Why do you think?” Another clump fell, stray strands falling on Steve’s bare shoulders. The kinds of surgery they had these days were a damn marvel, the little scars on Steve’s chest were barely an inch wide each.</p>
<p>He bit his tongue before he could remind Steve there was a chance the chemo wouldn’t make him lose his hair, but honestly, they both knew better. The kind of drugs they were putting Steve on were a doozy. They’d done the homework. Watched any and all videos online they could on it. You had to know your enemy, right?</p>
<p>“So why now?” Bucky continued to watch hair fall, trying to ignore how Steve’s hand quivered everytime he raised it.</p>
<p>Steve scrubbed his free hand over his half-shorn scalp, grimacing at the meandering path left.”Better get used to it.” He shrugged and took another stab at it, Bucky wanted to help, but Sam would have his ass for it.</p>
<p>“Let him do what he can, while he still can.” Because Sam was the most well-adjusted out of all of them, which was saying something, considering he’d lost his boyfriend Riley to the war that had taken Bucky’s arm and made Natasha stare into the middle distance when she didn’t think they noticed. All army kids grown up to be little soldiers themselves, besides Steve. Steve had wanted to, of course, but...well…</p>
<p>Bucky watched until Steve finished, jaw clenched tight. He should get back to the kitchen, get things out for dinner, do something besides look at Steve. Hungry for every spare moment. </p>
<p>“What?” Steve’s terse tone snapped him from his lapse. Letting his mind drift so hard he lost some time wasn’t all that new, but he tried not to let Steve be the cause of it. For both their sakes. </p>
<p>Bucky blinked back to awareness, realizing Steve had finished. His head was prickly smooth, as delicate as the rest of him. For once, Steve looked his age. A pissed-off twenty-seven, beaten and bruised by a hard life, but made all the more scrappy. Steve was one of those little dogs people underestimated until they’d nearly torn your finger off.</p>
<p>God, he was beautiful.</p>
<p>“Looks good on you,” Bucky shrugged off the door frame, walked over to the chair Steve had pulled in then stubbornly not used, and plunked himself down in it. ”Now do me.”</p>
<p>Steve stared, looking at him as if he’d lost his mind, and maybe he had. Everyone knew Bucky was admittedly vain about his hair now that it had grown out. After keeping it short all throughout his military career he’d let it grow and grow until it was long enough to tug back into a sloppy bun. He looked good with his hair like this and yet despite knowing that, he’d made the decision in a heartbeat.</p>
<p>“What?” Steve’s brows furrowed deep which was usually just adorable but combined with his knew look it carried an edge it usually lacked. </p>
<p>Once again looking at Steve through the mirror, Bucky sniffed impatiently. ”I said, me next.”</p>
<p>“You love having long hair. You literally never shut up about it. You have three different kinds of conditioner.” Steve droned in reply, expression hardening with every word. Fine, if Steve wanted to do this the difficult way, he’d been arguing with Steve Rogers since they were five.</p>
<p>Turning, Bucky leveled his eyes, ”First, Mr two-in-one, one of those is a pre-treatment, and it’ll grow back.” </p>
<p>“You don’t have to do this solidarity bullshit with me.” The viciousness was a surprise, and for a moment Bucky wondered if he was being the asshole here. Friends and family shaved their heads in solidarity all the time, right? Of course Steve would have a problem with it. Steve had a problem with anyone doing anything in the vague realm of ‘nice’ for him, like he was allergic to kindness. ‘Help’ felt too much like being less than, like Steve couldn’t do things for himself.</p>
<p>Jesus, he really was becoming his therapist if he’d started psychoanalyzing other people now.</p>
<p>There was only one way to win with Steve, so Bucky buckled down. ”Oh yeah? You get to decide what to do with my own head now?” He challenged.</p>
<p>“I do when you’re being an idiot.”</p>
<p>“Like you’ve ever been able to stop me,” Bucky smirked, “You going to do it while the clippers are sitting there in your hand or you going to make the cripple shave his own head?”</p>
<p>Abruptly, a snort punched from Steve’s chest that Bucky initially prickled at. It turned out Steve was just trying to suppress a smile given the faint twitch of his lips. Thank fuck. ”I have cancer, prick. That trumps your stump, especially when you look like an Olympian.”</p>
<p>“Hey, I have a fucked up head too, if we’re playing that game.” Bucky snickered, flinching when Steve sharply flicked the side of his head.</p>
<p>“Feels alright to me,” Steve didn’t give him any warning. One moment they were sharing a small chortle and the next a fat line of semi-bare scalp kissed the cool bathroom air.</p>
<p>For a moment their bathroom fell away, and Bucky was sitting in a stuffy, cramped room that was called the Barbershop with two other guys sitting in chairs next to him. Second by second more of their hair hit the floor, purged from their scalp like their personalities would be in the weeks to come. Their hair, their will, their sanity, all to be stripped from them. </p>
<p>Maybe those two guys had fared better than Bucky had. He hoped so. He hoped with every jealous fiber of his being that those two fucks had done their tours and gotten the fuck out of there. Gotten that spouse and two point one kids complete with an ugly cookie-cutter house. Had gotten out with their heads and limbs intact. </p>
<p>“ —cky?” Bucky startled, and Steve cussed above him, jerking the clippers away before they could do more than pinch.</p>
<p>“Shit, I knew it. Bucky I told you this was a bad idea! Should I call Dr Banner?” Steve fussed behind him. Had he lapsed again?</p>
<p>Reaching up to feel his mostly bare scalp, Bucky took a few breaths. “‘M okay, just kind of spaced.”</p>
<p>“Bullshit, Buck you looked like you were going to throw up!”</p>
<p>“So? I said I was fine, dammit, so I’m fine. Finish it.” Bucky crossed his arms even if it pulled at his scarred shoulder viciously. He hadn’t been doing his stretches like he should but considering he’d had more important things on his mind lately he figured his physical therapist would have to forgive him.</p>
<p>Steve mumbled under his breath, once cuss after another, and the hair clippers kicked on once more. </p>
<p>If Steve could pretend he was fine, then so could Bucky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Bucky woke from a rare deep sleep to the sound of retching. Grimacing, he threw the blankets aside and shuffled from bed, feeling stiff-limbed and achy. Nothing that unusual after an exacting few hours at the gym after Natasha had all but kicked him out. He didn’t blame her, he knew what the others were thinking lately, but how could he not hover? Not when Steve— </p>
<p>The retching tapered into a volley of coughs that had Bucky quickening his steps. </p>
<p>“Steve?” He ventured, peering around the door jam to see Steve huddled against the side of the toilet, his whole body shivering.</p>
<p>Steve fought gravity to get his head up a couple scant inches to glare over his arm. ”Go back… go back to bed.” He looked like he might say something more but the words went into the toilet. By this point there wasn’t anything more to come up, just his body straining, trying to purge the very cancer from his body. </p>
<p>The Doc had said the nausea should be ‘manageable’ yet he hadn’t counted on Steve Roger’s body to fight every good thing they tried to put in it. The pills helped enough for the first few hours just not long enough to let him sleep through the night or get anything more than a handful of food down at once.</p>
<p>Bucky clenched his hand uselessly at his side, heartbeat quickening in his chest. Steve groaned and Bucky flinched away from it. Dimly, Bucky smelled blood and disease. Not the kind of tired musk of sweat and exhaustion on Steve these days, but the sort that hinted of death. Of rot. Of humanity pushed to the brink. </p>
<p>He’d heard retching then as well. He’d barely heard of cholera except in the history books back then. A half dozen of them cramped up in two cells that never got cleaned? It was a wonder they all hadn’t died from that alone. </p>
<p>Another fit of coughs spurred Bucky to fill the glass he’d learned to keep in the bathroom up with water and retrieve Steve’s spare inhaler from his pocket. ”See if you can drink somethin’, just to make your throat feel better.” He knelt, willing his hand to stop shaking as he passed the water glass to Steve’s own quivering hand.</p>
<p>Steve got a good sip in and didn’t dare more. ”Go back to bed,” he insisted with blood-shot eyes. He’d lost weight, which this early in his treatment plan was terrifying to linger on. Steve didn’t have much more weight his body could spare without it eating into the very core of him. Bucky would go by the store near the gym and pick up a box of that bulking-up powder he’d chugged down the first few months after he got back, when he could have played his ribs like a xylophone, like out of one of those old cartoons.</p>
<p>“Steve…” Bucky knew he was treading on thin ice. He could feel it under his skin, but goddammit, Steve couldn’t keep sending him away everytime he got a little jittery. He could get through this. He had to. Steve needed him.</p>
<p>He dared to wet a cloth to press against Steve’s pale forehead before Steve swatted him away. ”Buck. You’re paler than I am. Go to bed. I can’t… I don’t have it in me to help if you end up…” He trailed, strain writing itself in the tension of his eyes and lips.</p>
<p>His stomach sank. If he ended up having an episode is what Steve meant. It punched him, sucking out the breath in him as he nodded tightly. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Bucky whispered, standing. If he ended up off the rails while Steve was like this, it wouldn’t do any of them any good. Steve didn’t have the energy to put up with him right now. It would suit Steve better if he just stayed out of the way, right?</p>
<p>“You have your phone? Just call me if you need me?” Bucky knew the futility of asking. Knew that Steve would have to be laid out on the bathroom floor dying before he submitted himself to calling. Bucky tried not to think how close that was to being true.</p>
<p>Only getting a grunt in reply, Bucky stifled a sigh and resigned himself back to bed. The sheets felt cold and the bed too soft on his skin. It only took ten minutes for him to give up and slide down to the floor between his bed and the wall, pulling his duvet down over him, enveloping him in darkness. </p>
<p>Distantly, he heard Steve retch a few more times before he too made his way back to bed. Bucky hadn’t closed his door, and Steve hadn’t either, both too used leaving it a crack. Just in case.</p>
<hr/>
<p> ~weeks later~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bucky!” </p>
<p>A splash of warm water jolted him awake in a wild flail of limbs and blankets. Bucky cast wild eyes, finding Steve huddled against the doorframe with the empty glass from the bathroom held in one hand. </p>
<p>Before he could answer, three hard thumps from the floor above echoed into his bedroom. Their upper floor neighbor who has called a noise-complaint against them more times than he could could since Bucky came back. If it wasn’t for their other understanding neighbor and a landlord whose son was serving, Bucky knew they would have been evicted a while ago for disturbing the peace.</p>
<p>“I’m… I’m sorry, I’m awake. Go back to bed.” Bucky panted, pushing the blankets off, the creeping sensation of being smothered too fresh on his skin. They had liked to push him to the brink, make him writhe for air. He’d gone under time and time again convinced his captor’s cruel faces looming above him would be the last thing he’d see.</p>
<p>Over the past month and a half, they’d teetered on a seesaw. Sometimes Steve would wake in the middle of the night to be sick or in too much pain to settle, sometimes Bucky would wake them, either by his night terrors or bouts of restlessness. </p>
<p>Steve sagged, scrubbing his free hand over his face and back over his scalp. ”It’s almost dawn anyway.” He pushed off the doorframe, hesitated, and offered a thin smile. ”Make pancakes?”</p>
<p>They both knew neither one of them had much of an appetite but it’s what they would have done before and the task would give Bucky something to do. So he dragged himself up out of bed, damp with sweat and tap water and gratefully went to the kitchen to pull things out for a pre-dawn breakfast.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>“Jesus, Barnes, you look like shit.” Rumlow was a fount of empathy as usual as Bucky marched himself into the gym like he was going to an execution. Like usual, he’d been ordered to go, and yeah, he always felt better when he was working up a sweat but that didn’t mean he appreciated being ‘handled’. </p>
<p>Grumbling a ‘fuck you’ under his breath Bucky went to warm up while Rumlow laughed, ”Perky too.”</p>
<p>Some point between his gym-buddy (because Bucky didn’t actually like Rumlow’s presence but he was decent enough to shoot the shit with) negging him on to do more curls and situps, Bucky asked, ”Hey, you know vitamins and shit, right?”</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, Rumlow wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after taking a swig of Gatorade. ”Yeah, I guess.”</p>
<p>“You shop at that store down the street?”</p>
<p>“Huh? Yeah, buddy of mine works there, ex-military too.” Bucky tried not to notice the way Rumlow leered ‘buddy’. He’d noticed Rumlow making eyes at a few guys around the gym but whenever pressed he’d denounce being gay like he was rebuking the devil. Bucky didn’t want to get caught up in Rumlow’s damage and wisely stayed quiet. </p>
<p>Bucky hadn’t invited Rumlow along exactly, but he still found himself with company after they’d showered and packed up.</p>
<p>Rollins was less warm and sunny than Rumlow was, which was a feat. ”You looking to gain or something?” Rollins cast a dubious look up and down Bucky’s person as he hefted the giant jug of protein powder onto the counter. Bucky wasn’t a small guy, but he wasn’t at his ‘fighting-weight’ at the moment either considering the past few months. Still, he was a far cry from needing a vat of bulking powder.</p>
<p>Quick to interject when his opinion wasn’t needed, Rumlow piped up,”His buddy has cancer,” Bucky had mentioned it in passing but of course Rumlow had to latch onto things. Guy liked information, ferreting it away to air out later when it suited him. Bucky knew Rumlow had been trying for secret-ops back in the day but his dishonorable discharge said things hadn’t gone well.</p>
<p>Rollins shrugged with a grunt and scanned the item.</p>
<p>While Bucky was fishing out his wallet, Rumlow leaned against the counter, ”Hey, why do you look like shit? No offense man, but are you in any condition to be doing all that? Don’t hospitals have nurses that come out and do that stuff for cancer people? Hospice?” </p>
<p>Bucky’s eyes snapped towards Rumlow, ”Hospice of for the dyin’, asshole. Steve ain’t dyin’.” He growled, snatching up his change to shove in his pocket. ”And like he has the insurance for that.” He pointedly ignored the warning look Rollins was giving him for his tone. If Rollins wanted him not to snap at his secret-boyfriend, then maybe Rollins should talk to Rumlow about sensitivity. </p>
<p>Rumlow wasn’t in the business of quitting while he was ahead, ”Fine, whatever. Then a home then, they do that, you know. I know you’ve been babysitting this guy most your life, man, but maybe now is the time to call it quits. Just because your dads served together doesn’t mean— “ It had been a while since Bucky had hauled off and punched someone, and maybe his form wasn’t the best, but seeing Rumlow spit a tooth was damn satisfying. Right up until Rollins came around the counter and tackled him to the floor. The guy had a mean right hook.</p>
<p>Sam didn’t appreciate having to bail him out of jail that night but even one of Sam Wilson’s patented ‘You’re a grown ass man’ talks didn’t hold a candle to the frosty reception he got at home. He didn’t tell Steve what he’d gotten into a brawl at a body-building hangout for, but Steve probably figured it out when a new container of powder showed up from Bucky wisely buying it online this time around. </p>
<p>Steve got the shake down a little easier than solids, so Bucky would file it away as worth it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Bucky hummed to himself as he puttered around the apartment, popping into both of their rooms to pick up their laundry. The TV droned in the background, Steve on the couch with a sketchpad in his hand. It was a nice day. A nice day meaning they’d both slept more than four hours, they’d eaten breakfast, and their friends weren’t flooding them with text messages like helicopter partners. </p>
<p>Granted, it was still barely past noon, so maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised when things turned to hell.</p>
<p>Maybe he should have known it was coming when he heard the smarmy inspirationally sad music playing at the end of whatever daytime drama Steve wasn’t paying attention to. The kind of show that played serious issues like memory loss, miscarriages, and cancer for the drama. Things that shouldn’t come in bite-sized episodes to be glossed over or magically fixed on next-week’s episode. </p>
<p>Bucky had just hobbled into the hallway to set the laundry bag by the door when he heard Steve suddenly scream; a note trudged from the pits of his stomach and thrown into the world with every scant pound of Steve’s body.</p>
<p>He nearly tripped on the carpet rushing into the room. His heart hadn’t remembered to start back up or maybe it had violently ejected from his throat as every horrific scenario his brain could supply in the three seconds it took to get to the living room played in his mind’s eye. He could count the number of times he’d heard Steve yell that wasn’t expletives at someone who probably deserved it. Not yell, yell. Scream like you were beyond words.</p>
<p>Except Steve was standing in front of the couch, coffee table overturned and Steve’s mug of tea spilled on the ugly navy carpet. He looked completely fine, if you counted his fists being clutched around a broken pencil and crumpled paper while looking like he’d punch the Pope if the old man looked at him wrong, fine. </p>
<p>“Jesus christ, Steve what the — “</p>
<p>“This is bullshit!” Steve hissed, every muscle wound tight and shaking.”Am I just supposed to fucking sit around watching goddamned soap operas ‘til I croak?” Bucky spared the TV a glance, grimacing at the massive crack right in the middle of it and the broken remote laying on the floor.</p>
<p>The neighbor above pounded on the floor, and Steve’s anger shifted. ”Fuck you, I have cancer!” Steve shouted, raising a defiant middle finger to the air. The knocks seized before Steve could forcibly evolve laser vision.</p>
<p>As quick as it hit, Steve started to sag. The pinched furrow between his brows drooped, the anger sliding from his face and giving away to an expression Bucky liked even less. ”Fuck… Fuck,” Steve’s breath hitched. </p>
<p>“Steve…” Bucky tried again, edging a step closer.</p>
<p>“What am I doin’, Buck? Just… waiting? Look at me! I… I look like I’m already dead for fuck’s sake.” His bony hands gripped against his baggy shirt that had been from the youth section to start with. “I can’t do this. I can’t just wait around for this to kill me, I can’t.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s feet rooted to the ground, struck dumb by the weight of Steve’s fears. Steve had barely hinted that this was any worse than his usual bouts of sickness aside from the very physical aspects. Steve had taken the motto ‘grin and bear it’ like a creed. The same guy who broke his hand when he was twelve before an art competition and refused to get it put in a cast until after he’d finished his entry. He’d gotten second, of course. Steve had just soldiered on and Bucky hadn’t questioned it. </p>
<p>He’d seen Steve cry twice in his entire life. When he’d comforted Bucky through his grandmother dying, and then when Steve’s mother died. But now tears started streaming down his face as he stood with his head bowed, shoulders shivering.</p>
<p>“I don’t wanna die, Buck.” Barely loud enough to hear over the crackling from the television stumbled him forward. He wrapped his arms, one flesh, one unyielding, around Steve’s body as if he could draw Steve in tight enough they’d blend together. Maybe that way he could fight Steve’s cancer for him.  </p>
<p>Bucky swallowed, pressing his head against Steve’s, breathing in the scent of sweat and soap. ”You’re… you’re too stubborn to die, Rogers.” He whispered, not wanting to say ‘you’re not going to’ because he knew more than most that death could take anyone at any time. Time was always the enemy.</p>
<p>He held Steve there, cradled in his arms in the middle of the living room for as long as it took. Until one of his legs fell asleep and the dimming sun through the curtains gave way to night. Holding Steve while he cried bone-rattling tears into his shirt, boney hands clutched tight enough for his blunted nails to scrape skin. His right hand splayed against Steve’s knobby back, running up and down the winding path of his twisted spine. It was about all he could do for him.</p>
<p>Eventually, Steve’s sobs gave way to exhausted sniffles. Slowly, Bucky stood, gathering Steve to his chest. For once, Steve didn’t argue, just let himself be picked up and held as if he was made of glass because, right now, he was. The slightest thing would break him, shatter him to a million pieces Bucky couldn’t glue back together again.</p>
<p>Ignoring the mess, Bucky carried Steve all the way into his bedroom and laid him down. A hand snaked out, hooking against his sleeve with a quietly whispered, ”Stay.”</p>
<p>When they were brats, sharing a bed together hadn’t been a big deal. Sleep overs were spent in the same bed until they were thirteen and tried to be ‘adults’ and sleep separately whenever they were together. Inevitably, Steve would get cold or Bucky would lament his sleeping bag not being as comfortable as Steve’s admittedly lumpy mattress. They’d grown up of course, but after Bucky had come back, broken, beaten, and hollow, Steve had held him close and whispered soft words into his hair until the memories didn’t feel so fresh. </p>
<p>Crawling under the sheets felt second nature to him now, reaching out to pull Steve against him. They fit together like no one else ever had. It was why he’d never managed to have a relationship past a few months. How could he when the other half of his soul was right there just out of reach? If not for Steve, Bucky wouldn’t have had the fire in him to claw his way out of that dingy POW camp with a ruined arm and a knife covered in blood.</p>
<p>He hadn’t cried the entire evening. Steve needed him to be the strong one. To be the one whispering in his hair and petting his back. But he wasn’t strong, not really, and as soon as Steve’s trembling breathing evened out Bucky pressed his head against Steve’s pillow and wept. He knew how to stay silent these days, biting back the terror or sorrow so he didn’t wake Steve up when he needed all the rest he could get.</p>
<p>He bit his lip until it bled, crying until his body pleaded mercy and forced him into a drained sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>For once, it was sunlight streaming through the blinds instead of nightmares that woke him. Bucky grimaced, shifting against the bed. A quiet grumble inches away from him tugged him towards wakefulness, eyes cracking open. Steve had turned in his sleep, facing him, curled as close as could be. </p>
<p>This close, he could see Steve’s long eyelashes and thick brows starting to thin. Steve only had a month left in his chemo cycle. So close, but so long when Steve already looked like he was fighting hour by hour to stay upright. If it wasn’t for their friend Nat bringing over a box of chocolate edibles, he doubted Steve would even be eating. </p>
<p>It wasn’t fucking fair. Steve was one of the best people Bucky knew. Consciously, he knew sickness didn’t work that way. That bad things happened to good people, but it just shouldn’t be Steve. Steve had already fought so hard through his childhood of being in and out of the hospital; watching his mother waste away from her own weak lungs succumbing to double pneumonia when he was seventeen. Steve had already had to put his best friend back together after Bucky had spent six months in the hell of a POW camp, being broken down bit by bit by the very worst humanity had to offer. And how had fate repaid him?</p>
<p>Cautiously, Bucky reached up, laying his hand against Steve’s bare head, thumb stroking against his warm skin. He stared until he realized Steve was looking back at him, sleep-heavy eyes peering at him with quiet question within. </p>
<p>The impossibly large bubble he’d choked down for years swelled, pushing up his throat until he suffocated. He sucked in a harsh breath, and decided to change the world.</p>
<p>“I love you,” He blurted, equal parts terror and longing. He couldn’t go one goddamn more minute without Steve knowing that, come what may. Steve wasn’t the kind of guy to recoil away from him in disgust. He probably wouldn’t even make it weird. Steve would just turn him down with that kind smile of his and say they were just friends, right? It’d hurt. God, it’d hurt, but the world would keep spinning as long as he could be by Steve’s side, no matter the capacity. </p>
<p>Except Steve didn’t say anything. His eyes widened, fatigue chased away by pure wide-eyed shock. His pale lips parted, closed, and parted again.</p>
<p>“Jesus, Steve, breathe why don’t — “</p>
<p>“You fucking idiot,”</p>
<p>“-- you?” Bucky blinked, flinching away. “O-oh, sorry… I’ll just...” He made to get up, throwing the blanket off of himself to try and make a hasty retreat. </p>
<p>The same hand that had caught him the night before locked around his prosthetic wrist, a weak grip anchoring him against the raging gale threatening to send him under.</p>
<p>”No, I didn’t mean it like that. Come back,” Steve murmured, voice thready and weak. It took him an hour or two for his lungs to warm up enough to talk. Bucky should set up his breathing treatment instead of easing back under the covers, should do anything but be handled like a skittish stray. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” He ventured, laying his head back on the pillow.</p>
<p>Steve’s grip slid from his wrist, traveling up the length of his prosthetic, scarred shoulder, before coming to rest on his cheek. ”Yeah.”</p>
<p>Sighing, Bucky chuckled quietly, blinking his eyes closed before he did something stupid like cry again. After all this fucking time?</p>
<p>Steve’s small sniffle got his eyes open again, shifting even closer until he could draw Steve against him without having to exert pressure on his frail body. ”Stevie?”</p>
<p>“Why did we wait until it was too late?” The words took his breath away. He’d never get used to a Steve Rogers that didn’t look any kind of adversary in the eye and flip it off. He just looked so tired now. Exhausted to the core. </p>
<p>Bucky leaned in, morning breath be damned, and kissed him. As far as kisses went, it wasn’t a great one. He partially missed, getting the corner of Steve’s lips and fumbling to get his flesh and blood hand out from under him so he could take Steve into his arms. But it was perfect.</p>
<p>“It’s never too goddamn late, you hear me? Today, tomorrow, next week, the rest of our lives, I want this. I want you. I’ve always wanted you, Stevie.” Now that he’d said the unthinkable out loud, it came easier, pouring out the secret he’d kept buried inside him for over a decade. </p>
<p>Tucked against his shoulder, Steve chuckled wetly. ”The rest of our lives huh? Gettin’ a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“You know me, Rogers, optimistic to a fault.” He replied, sniffling. </p>
<p>“Kiss me again, Buck.” And he did. He slotted their lips together as long as he dared. Until Steve’s breathing couldn’t be ignored and Bucky pulled out the breathing apparatus that made sure fluid didn’t build up in his healing lung. </p>
<p>And he kissed Steve throughout the day, pausing by the couch to press his lips against Steve’s bald head, or sidling up behind Steve when he stood. Steve let him, leaning into every kiss like he expected Bucky to dissolve into mist. </p>
<p>That night they migrated to Bucky’s bed without discussion, tucking themselves together with childhood ease, except this time, their hands were intertwined.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Fuck… you.” Steve wheezed. He was definitely dying. This would be it for him. Curtains. A sad finale to a constant uphill battle. Keeling over in the middle of the park where kids ran around with sticky fingers and haggarded mothers chased after them with a spit-damp napkin. He was pretty sure a dog was pissing on a trash can overflowing with hastily discarded foodstuffs a few feet away from his inevitable end.</p><p>“Not till you can get a full lap,” Bucky had the nerve to wink at him, jogging in place in his stupidly small black shorts, looking tan and gorgeous and not at all like he was out of breath. It wasn’t fair, Bucky had been cramming his face full of mac-and-cheese the entire time he was in chemo because it was easy to make and he could still stand there jogging in place?</p><p>Steve didn’t stare at Bucky’s subtly jiggling thighs as he shifted, but it was close. “That’s physical blackmail.” Heaving himself off the tree he’d sprawled against, Steve tugged his gym shorts back into place and trudged towards Bucky. </p><p>The sun prickled his head and he reached up, scratching against the golden fuzz that was fast bleaching bright blonde from all the sun they’d been getting lately. Bucky’s head was covered by a baseball cap, hiding the longer strands of dark brown that was coming in with wild waves that haloed around Bucky’s head when he sweated. Steve teased him relentlessly, because if he wasn’t allowed to tease his boyfriend over his stupid decision to shave his head months ago in bogus solidarity, then what was the point?</p><p>“Come on, baby. Little more.” Bucky urged, dancing away as Steve flashed a hand out to try and smack him for calling him baby. </p><p>“Watch it, Barnes. I know where you live.” Despite the doom pressing on his chest, Steve took off in a petulant slog, hovering far enough back that he could watch the inviting globes of Bucky’s ass jiggle every time his sneakers hit the pavement.</p><p>“Don’t objectify me,” Bucky smirked over his shoulder, bobbing his eyebrows with a roguish grin.</p><p>Steve snorted through a burst of laughter that had his chest aching. He slowed again, making grabby-hands towards Bucky’s small backpack. He gulped greedily at his sports drink, not even caring that it was grape instead of the universally known superior ‘red’ flavor. “Just appreciating the scenery.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Bucky leaned down to brush their lips together, “Little more, and I’ll make it worth your while when we get home.”</p><p>The little purr in Bucky’s voice skittered up his spine, a low simmering heat settling in his gut despite his aching body. “Y-yeah?” They hadn’t exactly been able to explore some of the adventurous sides of being in a relationship since their heartfelt confession two months ago, not when his body was still struggling through recovery.</p><p>The day the doctor announced the combination of surgery and chemo had worked had possibly been the best day of his life. Bucky had kissed him until he was literally breathless, and even though his own body (annoyingly) hadn’t been up for it (literally), he’d parked himself on Bucky’s lap and touched his boyfriend until Bucky shook apart. Tasting Bucky’s pleasure on his lips had been a gift, one that Steve would never take for granted. </p><p>“Mhmm, let’s see that hustle, Rogers.” Bucky kissed him once more, tongue sliding against his lips and withdrawing before he could do more than whimper at the loss of contact. </p><p>Then the asshole took off again, leaving Steve to plod after while adjusting himself as subtly as he could manage.</p><p>The birds flitted from one treetop to the next, the air smelled like popcorn and spattered honeysuckle, and Steve breathed it all in. A quiet chuckle built and he angled his face into the sun. </p><p>Yeah, he could definitely do this the rest of their lives.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Neon: my twitter is neonbat666 if you want to follow me for word on other works or commissions ♥️</p></blockquote></div></div>
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